


Another Bite of Neverland

by natascha_ronin



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Neverland (Once Upon a Time)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 00:58:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7992724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natascha_ronin/pseuds/natascha_ronin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma Swan has been trapped on a deserted island in Neverland for several years, when The Jolly Roger arrives and with it Killian Jones, also known as Captain Hook. OOC and AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Bite of Neverland

The ocean is her solace and her captor. 

It is, as it always was, the sunset and orange-pink hues that calm her raging heart. It’s day after day, sand and jungle and heat and water and the horizon. The horizon swallows the sun. Sun sinking into the sizzling ocean surrounding her, sucking at her salt-water-soaked feet, making the world seem less lonely and so so large. In the sun, she’s found a kinship, a heartfelt sister who sails across the speckled sky as abandoned as she. 

There are many days, too many to count. There are years, too many to weep over.

Days spent picking nuts out of trees, hunting wild animals that would have turned her stomach to kill once. Days she nearly goes crazy with wondering if her life before was a dream or a hallucination: cars, concrete, chocolate, people, airplanes, twinkies, television, sex. 

Not that she experienced much of it before; in twenty-one soft years she only briefly felt a man’s touch. Boys. They were boys. Lost boys, like her. 

One lost boy. One lost girl. One boy lost to the girl forever in a world that wanted him and not her. His cries haunt her dreams. Dreams of pushing and pushing and handcuffs and then brief release and freedom from captivity and Tallahassee…

And too many years of _this_ since then.

It’s a blurry memory: another stolen lunch from a convenience store, living in her VW bug, in Tallahassee, looking for him, her beanie tucked low to isolate her, and then the bean.

The bean.

Tossed aside onto the ground from a passerby, barely a silvery glint in the air and then it bounced next to her on the pavement, and _whoosh_ , she was here. Here in the sun and sand and island that never ended, and ended much too small to share with the rest of the world.

Here she is alone. 

______

 

The ship arrives at midday. 

The ship, wooden and ancient and real, teeming with a team of rough-looking sailors from another time, drops anchor in the bay on the west shore where Emma normally catches her dinner. She watches from her perch in the rattan. She watches as they row and their faces turn toward her funnel traps thrown out into the water. The water laps at their boots as they pull up the traps, grabbing the flounder and crabs as they lick their lips. 

She slinks back into the forest as their sharp eyes scan the tree line. 

______

 

The trees cloak her while she listens to the two men on the ground beneath her.

“This is the only island outside of Neverland with a fresh water source, Captain, we should make camp.” The older man licks his lips under his beard. 

The tall one sighs and takes a puff of his cheroot, the soft suck and scorch of liquor-soaked tobacco making his voice deep as he retorts. “No. We set sail at first light. We’re still in Neverland, and at the mercy of whatever lost boy set those traps in the bay.” He stamps out the butt of his smoke with a pointy boot, and points at the foliage. “Find his camp and slit his throat before he can slit yours, aye?”

His left hand is missing, a hook in its place. Shivers erupt up her spine as she remembers a play, a fairy tale, a myth. 

She slinks back into the foliage, thankful they can’t hear the pounding of her heart. 

Ruthless men, fairy tales though they may seem, are her only chance of escape. 

______

 

She misses the sunset for the first time in years. 

Instead, she waits until the sailors have made camp on the beach and steals away under the waves, the moonrise not until later, shadows enveloping her under the watchful eyes on deck of the ship. Years of climbing trees and vines make it easy to sneak up the pilot ladder, stopping at each spreader to catch her breath and listen for the watchmen on board the ship.

She swings her leg over to the gun port and pries open the lid to shimmy inside. The cannons are pulled in, so it’s an easy fit, her slight and wiry frame pulled in by sturdy arms. She’s careful in the dark, sliding in the outline of the ship’s walls. 

She’s nestled under large scraps of sailcloth in a small area of the hold before night fully swathes the ship.

______

 

It’s a small ship, by modern standards, but she’s never been on anything larger than a pleasure craft. Once, a girl from school tried to befriend her, inviting her on a family outing on Lake Minnetonka. Emma enjoyed the calming hum of the boat engine, swimming in the shallow water of the sand bar, the spray of water alongside the boat as she laughed along with her would-be friend. The sun set on the horizon, spraying molten hues of pink and orange out along the water while she watched with tired water-logged eyes. 

She’d been transferred to another foster home two days later, in another school district. She didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye. 

She painted the sunset in art class at her new school. For all she knew, the crazy lady who ran the foster home kept it when she ran away. She got better at keeping things on her person after that.

Now, she wakes with a start, stomping feet over the hatch she’s hiding under. She pulls the hemp cloth over her head and tucks her hair up into her tattered beanie. 

“Bo’sun! Weigh anchor!” 

The sailcloth is hard to breathe under, her face growing hot with the effort to pull oxygen through the thick material. 

She hears footsteps close to where she’s hidden and opens her mouth wide to breathe quietly and inhale as much air as she can.

______

 

They find her while she’s napping, overheated from the heavy cloth and small space and dehydration from days in hiding. Rough arms pull her up and over the lid to the hold. Weathered faces leer at her, licking hacked lips and breathing sweet rot. 

“Oy! Taylor! Tell Cap’n we gots a stowaway!” 

She’s hooked under her arms and dragged upstairs. She turns her head and sees him, bleary through parched eyes. He’s bent over a table, conversing with two of his men as they yell through the open door. 

He’s not angry, at least not on the surface. He approaches her with his good hand in his belt, black on black on black leather and she’s on her back while he stands over her, straddling her. 

“What’s your name, boy?” He leans down to peer at her. 

“Not tellin’.” She pants in a low voice. 

“You new to Pan’s crew?” He quirks an eyebrow and cocks his head. “I thought I knew every lost boy in Neverland.” He’s got an accent and he drops the ‘r’ on Neverland. 

Once upon a time, she’d have thought he was sexy, rockstar eyes and leather. In her position, he’s dangerous and asking all of the crazy questions, so she’s biting back a snarky retort. She’s tired and her tongue feels like lead, so there’s no way she can stand up to him.

He reaches down and pats her cheeks, then looks up sharply. “Get my canteen.” They rustle boots and thump thump thump on wood and then he’s pulling a stopper out of a leather bladder with his teeth. “Get him up.” 

They jump at his commands, and she’s leaning against a bed. 

He tips the mouth of the canteen to her chapped lips and she drinks and drinks and coughs and sputters and someone leans her forward, slapping her back until she shakes her head violently, tendrils of hair falling into her eyes. She slaps hands away and narrows her eyes, glaring at him.

“You’re a pirate.”

Because it’s somehow incredulous but somehow the most real thing she’s ever known, this ship full of rough-looking men, and she’s looking at him like he’s something out of an erotic nightmare, but he’s not looking at her face anymore. He’s dropping the canteen and a handful of rings is reaching up and tugging on her ragged toque, dropping it to caress sun-bleached tresses messy and knotted from the salty ocean.

“And you’re no boy.” 

She continues to glare, snatching the canteen up to her lips to take a swig before blurting out, “Never said I was.”

“You’re no girl, either.” Again, he drops the ‘r’ on girl and she’s curling on the inside. _Sexy, sexy, sexy_ is overriding _danger, danger, danger._

“Woman. Teeth and claws, bud.” She didn’t survive this long to be pillaged and plundered.

_You’re on a ship full of men._

_Filthy men._

_Well, save one._

_One with a hook for a left hand._

As if summoned by her thoughts, he scratches his nose with the curve of the hook. “What’s your name?”

“Jane Doe.” 

His hook slips the canteen away, the curve of it nudging her chin up. “Your real name, lass.”

“Emma Swan.” It’s a warning on her lips. Hiss. Bite. Mean as hell.

Something changes in his eyes then. A gleam. A glimmer. Sinister and hopeful at the same time. He leans back on leather-clad haunches and regards her with interest, then looks up at his crew. “Find Miss Swan something to eat and set our course for the main island.” 

______

 

She’s starving, but she’s got an audience of one frightening pirate, so she eats with shaking hands and small bites. The meat is cured, bread hard, but she didn’t have to kill it or cook it for the first time in years, so she’s grateful.

He pours wine into the goblet in front of her. “This is from my private stock. It’ll drown out the taste of the chimera.” 

She sniffs the wine before taking a sip. It isn’t a stretch for her to think it’s poisoned. After years on a deserted island, she’s supping with pirates on an ancient ship headed for Neverland. It doesn’t get much more bizarre than that. 

He sips from his own cup. “So, tell me, Miss Swan, how did a princess like you end up in Neverland?” He licks his lips, claret stains already clinging to them.  
It’s really doing a number on her senses. 

She’s pictured a thousand scenarios in her head – she’s gone into another dimension, she’s in purgatory, she’s in the Twilight Zone, she hit her head and someone dragged her to a deserted island, she was somehow involved in a plane crash like those people on Lost, she’s in a coma and one day she’ll wake up and a kind nurse will give her ice cream, but never has she thought of herself as Wendy gone to Neverland. 

“I’m not a princess. This ain’t Neverland.” She snorts as she licks salt from her fingers.

He’s watching. 

He leans back in his chair, smiles, and spreads his arms out. “Ah, but you are in Neverland, lass, and if you are who you say you are, you’re the long lost daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming.” 

She laughs, really guffaws at that, sniffling and wiping her nose with the back of her hand. 

“What the hell are you on, Captain Hook?” 

He raises his eyebrows. “So you’ve heard of me?”

“Oh, my God, that was a freak guess!” She covers her mouth with her hand. This is really too much. “What’s your real name, dude?”

“Killian Jones.” He holds up his left arm. “But I didn’t get the moniker by being a saint.” His hook glints in the light. “You might want to be a bit more polite.”

“You don’t scare me.”

“I should.” He levels his gaze but brings his hook to rest on his thigh. “But that’s not my intention. I need you to believe me.”

“About Sleeping Beauty and Prince Charming being my parents? You’re nuts.”

“Snow White. As far as I know, Aurora is still under a sleeping curse.” He cocks his head. “Why would I be the crazy one?”

“Because I’m not the one spouting crazy theories straight out of a children’s story,” She takes a big bite of meat and speaks through it. “And you’re running around the Caribbean with a bunch of extras from a Disney movie.” 

He quirks an eyebrow. “Caribbean?”

“South Pacific, then?” She waves her goblet around before taking a hefty swig. “Wherever this is I’m stuck.”

He leans forward and regards her with a sharp eye. “You’re _stuck_ in Neverland, love.” His tongue, which has a mind of its own, darts out and licks the corner of his mouth. “Just how long have you been here? Have you never been to the main island, encountered any lost boys?”

She shakes her head, incredulous.

“Peter Pan?”

Emma rolls her eyes and purses her lips. 

Killian wordlessly stands up and picks up a spyglass from the shelf by the window. Pulling it open with his teeth, he walks over to the ladder that descends directly from the quarterdeck into his cabin, climbs up and slides the hatch open. She cranes her neck to see what he’s about, and he’s looking at something through the spyglass. He beckons her and she walks over to him, out of curiosity more than anything. She climbs up beside him. It’s a tight fit, but they both peek out of the hatch and he points to something portside. 

It’s nearly sunset, but she can make out the panoramic view of an island much larger than her own. In the airspace surrounding it, she can barely make out a small flock of large birds in flight. 

He nudges her arm with the spyglass, and she takes it, wincing and adjusting until she can see details in the trees on the island. The surf surrounds the mainland, and there appears to be no clear entry. 

“What am I looking at?” She squints her left eye to get a better view.

She feels his breath on the shell of her ear. “Look at the birds.” 

She swings the spyglass up and twists the lens to bring the birds into focus, and nearly drops it when she realizes what she’s really looking at. 

“Holy fucking crow,” she whispers. 

“Not crows, Emma.” His voice in her ear again. “Lost Boys.”

______

 

The flying children notice the ship and are heading toward them in minutes, and Killian is ushering a dumbfounded Emma down the stairs. 

“I have a feeling they aren’t going to be very welcoming.”

“Why’s that?” Her voice is wispy, her eyes wide with the effort it takes to look around her with new vision. 

“Because last time I was here, we didn’t get along so well.” He shushes her as the men above start shouting.

“Prepare to be boarded!” Emma hears a muffled yell and scurrying about. 

Killian dons a long leather jacket and glances in the mirror over the washbasin before he’s scurrying back up the steps. “Stay here, hide,” he calls down, “You’re no good to me dead.”

She squeezes into the cabinets below the windows and tries not to breathe too loud. Louder, the boys and men above her start a ruckus and then it’s quiet. 

______

 

When she was a child, Emma spent a lot of time finding the best hiding spots in each house she would visit. She used the word visit, because living or staying meant exactly the opposite of what tended to happen. A social worker would pack her and her belongings into the back of a vehicle and brief her on her next “home”. Emma would arrive at a house, spend time there, and eventually be sent packing when she was found wanting. 

When she was small, she was good at hiding in quiet spots like the basement behind the furnace, the attic had a small crawl space where a vent was moved, and she learned quickly to avoid under the bed since it was easy to find. When she grew big, she got good at hiding in plain sight, being small, leaving no footprint. 

The cabinet she’s in now reminds her of those times when she was small, the world made sense, and boys didn’t fly outside of the movies. 

______

 

The voice is younger, just a slightly different accent. 

“What deal are you after this time, Hook?”

“Just a way off of this island, same as last time.”

“And you, what, accidentally tossed a magic bean into the ocean and fell in?” The boy is sarcastic, impatient. 

“I was looking for Baelfire.”

“Haven’t seen him in the last fifteen years or so.”

“Is he dead?”

“Left. Dunno where he went.” There’s a bit of rustling. “What’s it to you?”

“His father is looking for him.”

There’s a low chuckle from the boy. “And now you’re Rumplestiltskin’s errand boy?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Always is with you.”

“Aye. Is with you, too, Pan.”

Pan. _Peter Pan?_ Emma muffles a sharp intake of breath. 

She hears Killian coughing. He must be close to where she’s hidden. 

“Indeed.” Pan sniffs. “But, you know, there might be some way you can help me.”

“I’m listening.”

“There’s a place, in another realm. I can’t get to it. There’s someone there that I want brought back here.”

“In The Enchanted Forest?”

“No, it’s a land without magic. Should be a cinch for a one-handed pirate who can’t wield a spell.”

“Who is it?” 

“A young boy.” There’s some rustling of paper. “Henry Mills is his name.” 

“Adding to your collection of miscreants?” Killian seems to be hedging. Does he want more information? Who is Henry Mills?

Emma’s leg is going numb; her toes feel like rubber against the inside of her tattered boots. She plays with the hole in the side. 

“It’s complicated.” Pan chuckles. 

“Fine. I’ll find this Henry Mills and return him to you, and in return for this errand you’ll return the Jolly to The Enchanted Forest.”

“I’ll send my shadow at dawn.”

______

 

Killian is alone and smoking a pipe when Emma emerges. There’s a single lantern lit on the shelf above her head. 

“I’m having a hipbath brought in for you, Princess.” His voice is low, his back turned to her, and he’s watching smoke curl above his head. 

“I didn’t know you were so accommodating.” She walks back around to the seat she occupied at dinner. She frowns. The food is gone. 

“Have I mistreated you since I found you on board my ship?” His features are dark in the dim light, and he looks more menacing with the absence of sunlight. 

Still, she shakes her head. 

“Then please accept my hospitality, and listen to what I have to say.” He gestures at the seat with his pipe. “Have a seat, Swan. We haven’t much time.”

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” She sits down delicately. It’s still a bit much to take in: he’s a devilishly handsome fabled pirate, she’s a princess, and he just made a deal to steal a kid for Peter Pan. She might just be crazy and lying sedated in a hospital somewhere, waiting to wake up. This is one hell of a dream if she is.

He wraps his lips around the pipe and sucks the fragrant smoke three times in quick succession. “You’re Princess Emma of The Enchanted Forest, daughter of Snow White and Prince James, otherwise nicknamed Prince Charming by his beloved wife.” 

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because they named their daughter Emma, and sent her to the Land without Magic twenty-eight years ago.” He scratches his ear. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Why?”

Killian sets his pipe down. The room is heady with the aroma of tobacco, and he inhales. “You’re the only one who can break the curse your parents are under, and you’ve been missing for almost seven years.” 

Emma nods at that. The bean, the falling and then ending up in the ocean, swimming to shore on a deserted island that just happened to neighbor fucking Neverland. That has to be about as plausible as this story he’s spinning. 

“Alright, I’ll bite. I’m Princess Emma.” She leans forward and fixes him with him a sly look. “But you’re a pirate.”

He nods and looks down. “Aye.”

“What’s in it for you?” 

His gaze shifts over her shoulder. “A reward for your return.”

“Uh-huh.” She shakes her head, narrowing her eyes. “You’re leaving something out.”

He fixes her with a sly smile of his own. “What makes you so sure?”

She leans back and taps her temple with her index finger. “I’m pretty good at sniffing out a lie, and right now, you stink.”

He licks his lips and winks. “You don’t like the tobacco? Should I join you in the bath, love?”

He’s using his charm to try and throw her off. She hasn’t been around people in almost a decade, but she can still spot an act when she sees one. “Don’t play games with me. I’ll swim to that island and take my chances with Peter Pan and his band of merry non-men.”

“You’re bluffing.” He hedges.

“There’s only one way to find out.” Check mate, buddy. “I swam to that island I was on, and onto your pretty boat. I’ll bet I could make it in the dark before you could find me.”

He inhales sharply through his nose, the grin never leaving his face. “You’re a tough lass, aren’t you?”

Emma simply raises her eyebrows.

Killian looks down and licks his lips, drumming his fingers on the table. “Fine. There’s a man in this realm we’re traveling to, Rumplestiltskin. He’s a bloody demon.” He looks back up at her, eyes sober. “He took my hand, and I intend to take his life.” He nods once, slowly.

And it’s not a lie, at least, not one that she can tell. “Alright.” She looks around the room. “Now, how about that bath.”

______

 

The water is hot, and the soap is harsh, but it’s the closest she’s had to a real bath since – well, since she got sucked through a magic portal. 

Killian leaves her alone in his room, giving her the breadth of his toiletries, promising clothes after laying out a piece of linen she uses for a towel. She doesn’t look back down at the water; certain she must have been filthy. Her hair is a mess, and it takes forever to pull knots out (oh, how she longs for conditioner). 

She’s wrapped in the towel when he knocks on the door, and enters with new clothes (well, new to her) draped over his arm. 

New clothes. 

She realizes she’s been wearing the same clothes for about seven years, and she’s overwhelmed as she takes the leather and linen from him. 

“I’m afraid the boots will be a tad big, and the tunic might fit tight in the bust.” He steps back and scratches his ear, a nervous tell. “I’ve no corsets on board these days.”

She’s pulling on the shirt over the linen and wrestling the thin material against her damp skin. “I’ve never worn a corset, so you’re in luck.” She drops the towel and bends over to pick it up, noticing the gap in the neck of the shirt just as she catches his eyes dancing away from her chest. 

He clears his throat. “I thought you might like to sleep before Pan’s shadow has us on our way. It’s still early evening.”

She hadn’t thought of that. She pulls the shirt closed with one hand while the other holds the new clothes. “I suppose I can just go back to my bed in the sailcloth.”

He glares at her. “Nonsense. You’ll sleep here. I can bunk with the crew.” 

Her eyes sweep over the bed. It’s the first mattress she’s laid eyes on in forever, from even before her trip to Neverland. She’d slept in her car for awhile in Tallahassee. She wonders where it is now. Her voice catches in her throat. “I could –“ 

“No, you can’t, not in that shift.” He’s averting his eyes again. 

It makes her bold, the effect she’s having on him. “We could share.”

He could melt iron with the stare he gives her, mouth open, tongue grazing his lips. “I’ll take the floor, Princess, humble pirate that I am.”

She chuckles. “Somehow, I doubt you’re anything but humble, Hook.” 

His eyes darken after her. The flames dancing in dark blue irises belie the tone of his visage. He’s mysterious, shadow, pitch, kohl around his eyes, and she itches to touch. 

Emma scratches the skin at her breast and his eyes follow briefly. 

“So, how does a princess break a curse?” Her voice is low in the space between them.

“True love’s kiss.” It’s a sharp whisper, afflicted whimper.

It’s as if the opening fell into her lap. “I’ll have to practice, then.” 

_He should know an act when he sees one,_ she rationalizes. She can’t be blamed if he – 

He’s musk and sweat, leather and smoke, and her lips are on his in seconds, clothes falling to the floor at her naked feet. His hand finds her hips, her hair, her face as his thumb opens her wide to deepen the kiss, her tongue brushing against his digit as they fumble toward the bed. 

Neverland is hot, humid, the air clinging to them like a second skin in the bed, and their skin clinging together in muffled groans, tangled limbs, clasped hands. Every pant, every whispered curse a prose of worship, climactic gasps and murmured names. 

Spent. 

And the night spent wrapped in arms, secretly mourning the loss the morning will surely bring. 

“How?”She speaks softly into his skin. “How did you know I would be here? Why did you come for me?”

“I found out you were missing from The Queen of Hearts, took on a crew, and set out to find you for the ransom she would surely pay. Then I found out you’re the only one who can break this curse.” He rolls over onto his back, pulling her into his side, humming as she runs her fingers over charms and chest hair. “I can’t abandon you now, love. I promise to get you safely home, and see you reunited with your family.”

“What’s in it for you, hmm?”

“Other than revenge? Just the pleasure of your company.” He yawns deeply. “Quite pleasing, indeed.”

“Killian?”

“Mmhm?” He’s fading.

“You’re awfully chivalrous for a pirate.”

He chuckles low. “I believe in good form.”

She smiles and stops to dip her finger into his belly button. “Sleep.”

He inhales deeply. “That was…” His whispered tumble into slumber before she can whisper low enough for only herself to hear – 

“A one time thing.”

______

 

She’s awake.

Awake into the infinite horizon as she looks out the window of the empty room. There’s no awkward morning after, just the bizarre absence of the ocean beneath her as she dresses. She crawls up on top of the cabinet to look behind the ship, clouds slipping beneath them and stars above them. 

She must surely be dreaming now.

______

 

She’s still in the cabin when they land, tropical fruit falling from her sticky fingers after the men above shout in warning, seawater splashing on deck and into the hatch. The room isn’t drenched, just the floor, and her breakfast. 

Emma climbs slippery steps and opens the hatch to find a boyish Captain Hook staring back down at her, and she knows.

She knows she can’t be good for him, nor he for her.

She knows she can trust him, but she doesn’t want to.

She knows he wants to trust her – he wouldn’t have said those two words if he hadn’t. 

She knows him. Not in the carnal sense, because there was no guesswork there, but in the way a heroine knows a hero. 

But he’s no hero. 

Is he? Would he?

And as she looks up into the eyes of his open face, she fights every instinct telling her until she doesn’t.

He would.

He takes her hand and pulls her on deck with him, and they watch as a shoreline materializes in front of them. 

The air is chilly, and she rubs her arms. 

Killian takes off his wet coat and covers her with it. 

A seaside town – a modern seaside town, comes into full view as the ship races toward the port. She looks down and sees whales off the port bow. Her eyes widen, and she looks to Killian, who is grinning from ear to ear. 

“This is The Land without Magic, Emma, the realm your parents sent you to.” 

“You mean, I’m _home_? You went all that way to bring me home?”

He nods, swallowing heavily. “Aye.”

She shakes her head. Could True Love’s Kiss work on pirates? 

He sweeps his hand over the bow of the ship. “Welcome to Storybrooke, love.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, hey, I'm alive! I'm back from vacation and getting excited about season six! Who else is excited with me??


End file.
